The Party

The party is behind us.  A happy crowd of forty guests all found seating around three big tables and chowed down on a whole salmon; wrapped in foil with lemon slices, fennel, pastis, green onions, ginger, garlic, thyme and bay leaves; ensconced in the wood-fired BBQ for close to an hour; with occasional additions of fresh, fragrant rosemary to enhance the smokey aromas.
We had 15 lbs of succulent, tender beef, turned into the best Boeuf Bourgignon and 20 lbs of Gratin potatoes, which I'd started peeling at 6am. Dish after dish of Provencale tomatoes; topped with toasted goat cheese from a farm on the nearby coast, and oodles of parsley and garlic; green salad, cheese and two birthday cakes fed carnivores, omnivores and vegetarians alike, with plenty of wine and bubbly available to wash it all down.
It was a huge success, to the point that I turned on the sprinklers at the end, to dislodge the family members who tend to encrust themselves, without regard to the hour or the fact that they are the final stragglers and their alcohol-clouded political opinions are not anything I want to hear. There's a broken sprinkler head in the lawn (thank you tree trimmers) that squirts right onto the patio.
"Somehow", or "As Usual" the Birthday Boy was surrounded by a phalanx of female guests. They were first to be offered our magic potion, or Secret Sauce, as some have dubbed it. The big airtight jar contains cherries, kumquats, apricots and any other fruit we buy in season. Topped off with cognac, ginger liqueur, rum and brown sugar, the mixture sits quietly in the dark of the cupboard, waiting to be shared on special occasions. My brave equestriennes are not afraid of a drink or two and respectfully sipped at their glasses. Eyes widened and brows went straight up upon biting into the surprisingly lethal fruit of the tipsy cherries. The jar has been refilled now and will bide its time until the Christmas Party season. Thank goodness birthdays are only once a year!